


Sacrifices

by Dame_Syrup (mary_pseud)



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Cold Hands, Crossdressing, Girdles, Kink Meme, M/M, Mind Control, brain slugs, handjobs, moustache
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 03:25:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15899913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mary_pseud/pseuds/Dame_Syrup
Summary: For the kinkmeme prompt: The Brig likes to dress up in women's clothing; his moustache really is glued on.





	Sacrifices

"Aren't you ready yet, 'Alice'?" The Doctor's voice was high and tremulous, and yet distinctly his. And also distinctly exasperated.

The Brigadier looked at himself in the full length mirror, and gritted his teeth. The apricot sweater tied over his shoulders did something to disguise the breadth of them, and the blue dress had a bit of peplum to it to fill out his hips, but –

"This will never work," he muttered to himself.

"What?"

He consciously raised the pitch of his voice and said, "This will never work, 'Dolores'!" The wig was all right, and the powder, but...his fingers went to the razor sitting on the dressing table, that still had a few bristly black hairs clinging to it.

It has been Jo Grant who had linked the abnormal resurgence of the pillbox hat in fashion to some very interesting coloured lights hovering in the sky over some of the more posh shops of London. It had been the Doctor who discovered the invasion: gelatinous-looking aliens, who controlled their human puppets by attaching themselves directly to their skulls. Hence, the hats.

Then the Doctor had decided that he would have to enter the alien's centre of operations, and the Brigadier had ended up roped in when the UNIT vehicle they were using broke down. Now the only way they would get out of here with their brains still their own would be to pass themselves off as members of the legion of smartly-dressed women who came here for the 'free fashion consultation' and left as slaves.

When the Doctor had thrust the bundle of clothing into his hands and explained his plan, the Brigadier had been aghast. But it was too late to turn back now.

He opened the door and regarded the Doctor, who was wearing a distinctly frumpy dark green dress that did nothing for his complexion. The Doctor's eyes immediately locked on the Brigadier's bare upper lip, and he at least did the grace of flushing.

"I'm sorry, old chap," he said.

"Get rid of that purse," the Brigadier ordered.

"Whatever for?"

"The strap's too flimsy. Here," the Brigadier picked up some of the cut glass perfume bottles from the many tables of cosmetics and placed them in his own purse, which had a sturdy curved bamboo handle. "Impromptu bludgeon."

"Now you know I abhor violence, Br-, Alice." The Doctor blinked rapidly. "And aren't you going to do something about that?"

The Brigadier looked down, and discovered that the slightly too-small girdle and knickers he had picked out for himself were doing an inadequate job of controlling his, well, his feelings about wearing women's clothing in public. And the prospect of having to parade in them in front of other women and men, with the threat of capture and exposure and humiliation over his head...really, he was lucky he hadn't simply burst right through the tight fabric and rubber.

"It's not exactly a voluntary reaction," he retorted.

"Well, can't you think of something? Icebergs, cold showers..."

"Cold hands?" He was referring to the Doctor, of course, just in passing: his alien metabolism rendered him quite cool to the touch. But the Doctor completely misinterpreted his words.

"Oh very well," he grumped, stepping close to the Brigadier and scooping up his skirt to tuck into the waistband with a surprising skill. He pulled a kerchief out of his bosom and draped it across his hand. "You humans, so full of hormones..."

The Doctor's cool hand slipped under the Brigadier's knickers, finding and cupping his erection, rubbing its full length with his palm. The shock, the novelty, was too much for him, and within a few seconds he was gritting his teeth and spending helplessly into the Doctor's grip.

"There now, all better?" The Doctor thoughtfully dropped the kerchief into the trash and adjusted his hat (sans alien parasite) atop his lush white hair. "Shall we go, Alice?"

"After you, Dolores," the Brigadier said, rather faint of breath.

 

* * *

They left the dressing room, turned into the corridor, and found themselves face to face with, of all people, Jo Grant. She was wearing a very nice little brown dress, quite well fitted. And a pillbox hat. Her eyes were wide and vacant, and a hint of dampness at the corner of her mouth might have been drool.

"Jo!" the Doctor whispered, in his high woman's voice.

Her expression did not change, but she raised one finger to her lips in the sign for silence. "Shush," she said. "Someone came to visit me at your laboratory, Doctor-"

"What?"

"Yes, and he tried to give me a hat. Unfortunately for him, I put the hat on him first. See?" She reached into the open doorway beside her, and pulled out a familiar figure.

It was the Master. Unmistakably him, with dark suit and gloves matching his well-trimmed black beard. And atop his neatly groomed head was a little yellow pillbox hat, with very fetching daisies along the top and bottom.

"Are we going shopping?" the Master asked, his pupils the size of marbles.

"Yes, absolutely!" The Doctor beamed widely, and muttered out of the corner of his mouth. "How did you get in here and can we get out?"

"Took his limousine," she said. "Perhaps we could all leave together?"

"Marvellous. Alice, if you could take his other arm?"

The Brigadier did so, and endured Jo's expression of horror as she realised exactly who the person in the blue dress was. In retaliation, he made certain to let them know exactly how embarrassed he was at this whole charade, and slid enough double entendres into his rant to make the Doctor go pink about the ears.

The Master did not participate in the discussion; he was too busy admiring his reflection in the tinted window.

 

* * *

Finally they were all back in UNIT headquarters (the Brigadier was going to have to have a word with the men standing watch; it was quite irresponsible of them to let in a limousine without vetting all the passengers).

The Doctor had locked the Master away in a nice safe cell, with orders that nobody was to touch his hat; then he had spirited himself off to the laboratory, to work on something that would make the little pillbox aliens allergic to humans, or something. Jo had gone to assist him. That had left the Brigadier alone in his office. Fortunately he had a spare kit here, so he could change into something a little more military.

He took off the blue dress and tossed it aside, but folded the sweater with more care: it had a wonderful weight to it, and it was so warm. The knickers and girdle (still a bit damp) were carefully tucked away into a normally locked drawer, where they rested beside a lovely assortment of garter belts, tap pants, wigs and negligees.

The Brigadier then took a small wooden box out of that same drawer, and used a powerful medical adhesive to attach one of his spare moustaches in place. He twitched his lip, adjusted his jacket, made absolutely certain everything was put away (including those divine little pumps, which had fit like a dream) and then gone to confer with his men about the upcoming release of the Doctor's anti-alien aerosol, or whatever it was going to be.

The look on the Doctor's face when he saw the Brigadier back in his normal uniform, just the same as before down to the last hair on his face, made it all worth it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the joke here is that the actor who played the Brigadier sometimes wore an ersatz moustache.


End file.
